A Beautiful Conversation
by prosemeds
Summary: "The conversation between your fingers and someone else's skin. This is the most important discussion you can ever have." - Iain Thomas. Oneshot. Set between Always and After the Storm.
A/N: Result of a writing sprint because my well of inspo has been quite dry. Set between 4x23 and 5x01. So an insert I'd say. Rated M.

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Anonymous said:

"The conversation between your fingers and someone else's skin. This is the most important discussion you can ever have." - Iain Thomas

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He's beautiful.

Richard Castle is beautiful.

And it's not the typical word Beckett would want to use, not at all, but no other word seems to do this observation, this feeling, any justice. Not after tonight.

Not after knowing how he kisses her, how he presses his mouth over her worn and weary skin, her wounds, breathing back life in such a way that revives her nerves. Any numbness melting away. Any coldness, now warm.

Not after knowing how he holds her, the curve of his body to encase hers, heart thumping into her chest to assure her he's really there, his voice doing the same as her name drops from his lips. It's a prayer. And all he asks for is her.

He's beautiful, truly, in how he loves her. And after tonight, she can't forget it.

It's the only thing on her mind when he drifts to sleep. Clothed in the sheets, flat on her stomach beside him, she keeps herself close. With steady hands, her fingers trace along his body, smoothing over the flesh exposed, caring for it. His tiny twitches makes her chuckle, his presence already so comforting, familiar. Like home. A smile eases the corners of her lips up, admiring the man before her.

…her man.

She relishes the thought so much she presses a kiss to his hand lying beside her head. At her touch, his lids pry open, grinning when his gaze meets hers.

"Mm," he hums first, swallowing to clear his throat to speak. "Hey."

"Hi," she whispers.

"This is…amazing."

"What's that?" she asks, her palm cupping his cheek while her thumb swipes across, fingers reaching to push back his hair.

"Waking up next to you."

She buries her face into the mattress, lifting it back up in glee as she combs her hair away from her eyes, he joining to catch the strays she misses. Folding her hands around his, she massages it with her fingertips.

"You're kind of amazing too," she says, "if that's enough to summarize the remarkable man you are."

"That good, huh," he jokes, brows quirking in a tease.

"Oh yeah," she mutters, leaning in for a peck, but when she pulls back a bit to eye him straight, she gives up more. "But…I don't just mean tonight."

For a moment they suspend a stare, the weight of her words carrying more history than either have time or need to address. So he answers with another kiss instead, poised to love her once again.

She grips his neck for stability when he lowers himself to revere every part of her, speaking in tongues only her body understands as it undulates to talk back, beseeching for his. A swift heat builds between them like fierce fire, but he takes time before heeding her pleas, despite the clear readiness forming between her legs. He flirts with her patience, tends to every inch thoroughly.

"Oh _fuck_ ," she seethes, frustration settling in her core once his hands start to roam. He's already applying his experience from earlier.

Damn him.

Writhing, the pit of her ache deepening, her fingers rake down his chest, teeth nibbling from his ear to the base of his neck to regain some leverage, except it motivates him all the more, caressing the right spots that gorgeously agonize her.

Making his entry unbearable.

Fast and sharp in his buck forward to unite with her, she chokes out a cry, nails piercing his back as her head crashes back into the pillow. A whimper resounds when he drags himself away, her legs, lamely in weakness, trying to cling around him to return and stay as both hands slide up to his scalp to claw for mercy. She shakes under his power, trembling even in her bones with every thrust.

The passion glowing in the sea of his iris consumes her sight; the music of their moans and sighs harmonizing, her hearing; the sweet flavor of his skin enduring on her tongue, her taste; the perfume of their bodies pressing together, her smell; the words of sincerity enscribed in every movement, her touch. She wants to give all of herself, to have all of him.

" _Cas_ –" she grates in a breath, the rest of his name dying out. If this didn't feel so wonderful she could swear it's torture. But she loves it. All of it.

And God – him.

When he slows his pace she clutches the sheets for support, cursing him as her hips raise to meet his in longing. It's not enough. He mutes her pleasured musings with his mouth, eliciting groans from down in her throat that he swallows with every kiss. Both her hands return to his face, sliding up to cradle his cheeks, and he continues to smear kisses down her neck, his fingers dancing in dangerous places he'd discovered in round one.

"How badly do you want me?" he says right in her ear. The rush of his voice along her neck reaches her spine, a defibrillator for the nerves down her back. Clear.

Oh, but the shudders won't stop.

"I don't just want you," she whispers back, stuttering from the graze of his hand along her thigh. In a second she musters enough energy to push him up, rolling on top to secure her take over and sink fully back over him, mouth gaping, absent of air for a moment as she can finally, fully take him in. Once she relieves her lungs, she hovers over his lips. "I _need_ you."

His hands fly to hold her, one over her waist and the other along her neck, grinding her against him without waiting for her to act, more impatient than she believed him to be. At least with the control reversed. Now she can hear his desperation, gratitude laced in every grunt as her hips circle.

"Shit–" he grits, holding back in clear strain as she furthers their release more readily than he did, smiling as she notes the stunning struggle in him. It's perfect revenge for his taunt.

Except she's gasping with the force he exerts into her.

He transforms his approach without much reluctance, much less gentle when he reels her in for a kiss, fisting her hair at the roots so that her forehead rests on his, her eyelids wielded shut.

"I need you," he rasps. Sitting up, pulling her legs to straighten he guides her backwards, pinning her again. "But I need you more."

And he proves it to her.

Hand and hand twined together, his broken breath flowing over her lips, both realize the inevitable. There's a point of no return just around the corner, both bodies already silently screaming in love. Without reservation he expends himself, her psalms of ecstasy heightening exponentially as draws deeper faster. Closer, somehow, hands clasped on both sides of his neck for purchase, she shatters, undone beneath him with a sob that lingers as he follows after with a hard collapse.

Both heaving, she holds him, soothes his back with her hand and brands a kiss onto his shoulder, his jaw, and his cheek. Once he slides off of her, only just to bring her back into his embrace, he presses his own set of kisses along her body, planting his hand along her scar, her hand overlaying.

While tears don't fall from her eyes, her heart does well up lying in his arms. Tonight, he's promised her something he's been proving all along, day in and day out for the last four years. He's here. With all his heart to offer. It's an escape from the world, even for just a moment – more than just coming home, more than just belonging somewhere.

It's where her soul can find refuge and peace, somewhere it knows it will never be alone. Somewhere it will _always_ find love.


End file.
